


Auf Keinen Fall

by wickedrum



Category: Schindler's List (1993)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-07-08 17:09:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: Oscar Schindler gets a visit from an old friend just a few days before the German capitulation





	1. Überraschung

**Author's Note:**

> Important Note: First and foremost before everything, I need to state that this story has nothing to do with reality. The characters mentioned are based on the fictional versions featuring in Schindler's List but they are further fictionalised for my purposes. This work of fiction is not intended to offend anyone, neither Jews nor descendants of the named persons, especially none of the real Helens but I still apologise if it does offend.  
> I am well aware that the real Amon Goth could never be redeemed under any circumstances and that Schindler described him as the most despicable individual he had ever met as opposed to the bromance that they have going on here and partially, in the movie.  
> I have made an extra effort to introduce characters and situations not based on history just so that the story becomes evermore fictional.  
> So let me stress once more that I'm not idealising any Nazis, nor their political orientation. It is only that Ralph Fiennes happens to have the skills to consistently present performances that make his some of the best villains of all time so how can I resist that!  
> So enjoy freely, nothing evil's afoot! 
> 
> 2-The story is pretty much unravelling backwards in time, with jumps so sometimes you need to wait for an explanation of certain factors. Otherwise it all follows the format of my typical sickfic stories

Pairing: Amon/Helen, but not focussed on romance.  
Setting: Movieverse AU  
Characters: Amon Goth, Helen Hirsch, Oscar Schindler, Itzhak Stern, OCs  
Disclaimers: I don't ever own anything, barely my knickers

Chapter 1: Überraschung

April 26th, 1945 Brunnlitz

“Herr Direktor?”

The slightly hesitant, somewhat unfamiliar voice accompanied by the sound of the outside door opening disturbed Oskar and he promptly followed it up with a “which part of not stepping into the factory did you not understand,” he snapped at the guard as he quickly made his way towards the entrance. Even though all sources were foretelling of an impending German capitulation, he still did not like any members of the Nazi army shoving their noses where they didn't belong. Six years of cruelty and unpredictability would spook anyone and he was not going to start taking chances with the lives of his Jews now that the end of the war was within sight and touch. 

“I am sorry Herr Direktor,” the guard muttered, not actually putting both feet inside the building. It was a young one and not at all high ranking, not one that Oscar had to bother learning the name of or bribe in particular past the customary weekly crate of beer all soldiers of low rank were forced to share, not even amounting to one full bottle each. “But the Herr Kommandant is here.”

Oscar worked himself up to a good telling, after all SS-Obersturmführer Josef Leipold had no more right endangering his workers than any other Nazi officer or guard. But it wasn't the German who stepped in, but rather a higher ranking certain Austrian, one that the guard would also refer to as Herr Kommandant given that he had come from the group of staff Leipold had brought over with him from the Kraków-Płaszów concentration camp when taking his new assignment. 

“Dismissed,” Amon barked at the man and albeit his authority had officially never extended to the this camp, no sane subordinate, former or otherwise would had the good sense to question him. 

“Amon?” Oskar stared at him confused as the guard retreated, carefully avoiding the woman who trailed in after the surprise visitor and closed the door dutifully after himself. 

Helen did not wait one moment before reaching for the uniformed man, hanging onto one of Goth's arms as well as propping him up from the back the instant the other Nazi was out of sight and right on too because the Hauptsturmführer's legs bucked without delay, making Oskar reach out as well, barely being able to keep the commander upright between the two of them when he sagged. “I didn't think we would make it here,” Helen commented. 

“Yeah, alright,” Oskar tried to get his bearings and look for a solution from their current predicament, which ultimately comprised in him leaning down to put an arm under Goeth's legs and lift him up bridal style, carrying the smaller man up the stairs and into his office where there was a couch, with Helen in tow. The feat was surprisingly easy. The factory owner had carried his pal before, on more than one occasion when the commander had become too drunk to make it to his bedroom at the villa on his own, but never did the weight feel so lifeless and oblivious to his efforts.

“What's this,” Stern objected from the office door, having come out from behind his figures at the sound of commotion. “What is he doing here. Wasn't he decommissioned for stealing the state's money.”

“Stern, get Stein here,” Oskar placed the seemingly unconscious man onto the worn lounge, “he needs a doctor.”

“What, why.” The accountant was obviously put out by the request, his frown creasing his forehead deeply. They would evidently not dare to harm a German officer, but was there any harm in not getting him help when no one was looking. 

“Because I said so!” Oskar spared a stark look at his right hand man before arranging the commander's limbs on the sofa. He made sure that Stern indeed left to fetch the other Jew, then turned to Helen, “I'm glad you made it. I was wondering what happened to you when Vienna was taken.”

“We left before the siege. Most Nazis did,” Helen took an involuntary glance at the wedding ring on her finger. Of course she wasn't really wed, not when she had used a false name and identity, but her papers made her out as the wife of a Nazi war criminal at the very best. 

“So where were you these last three weeks.”

“On a farm near Wolkersdorf. Amon was in no condition to travel.”

Oscar nodded his understanding, but the returning Stern couldn't leave the latest without comment either, “you call the Herr Kommandant on his given name?” He observed, surprised, though seemingly no other emotion was added to his usual level voice. 

Helen ducked her head. None of this was her fault. She did not make the Kommandant pursue the choices he'd stayed by, nor changed herself in any way, but she was aware of how she would never fit fully with either opposing group now, Nazi or Jew, apart from maybe Schindler who never judged anyone, regarding his sick friend with genuine concern right now, “he's been throwing up blood for months now,” he informed the doctor, glancing at Helen for confirmation, “can you help him Stein?”

The physician stood dejectedly to the side, having the same reaction as Stern had before, “why should I.”

“Because you're a doctor for god's sakes,” Oskar rubbed his forehead frustratedly.

“It's alright,” Goeth mumbled, making it clear that he was in fact aware of his surroundings at least to some extent, “I wouldn't help me either,” he moved his head instinctively into the direction of his friend's voice with his eyes still closed till something seemed to have startled him. “Oskar!” He grabbed at the lapel of Schindler's coat to pull him closer. The sudden movement made him groan and pull his legs up, practically shaking with pain to the extent that the industrialist also jumped to hold him and ease him back down onto the couch. “It's alright Amon, calm down, I'm here.”

“Oskar..” Goeth kept his fist tightly wrapped into the lapel of his friend's cream coloured coat.

“Yes Amon, it's going to be alright,” the factory owner frowned at Stein pointedly. Schindler knew fine well what he could and could not and would have any right of asking of a Jew and yet in this moment he wished it was more. 

“Helen,” the uniformed man breathed, “she will be safe here right, till it's over,” he rambled to get to the point he wanted to express, making it clear that he was entirely aware of the reasons for the factory's existence. 

“Well of course!” Schindler pacified, “Helen is always welcome to join us.”

“One more. One more thing,” Goeth whispered.

“Anything,” Schindler felt inclined, assuming it would be a dying request.

“Leipold. He would have orders. Not from me,” the Kommandant thought necessary to specify although it should have been clear he had no authorization here, “he's to kill every captive before capitulation.”

Schindler exchanged a grave look with everyone else present, “I know Amon.”

“You do?” Stern's frown deepened again.

“I have a plan, don't you worry,” Schindler relayed to everyone involved. 

“Do you have guns?” The Austrian thought important to ask.

“No, but I don't think Leipold would do anything rash at this point,” the businessman was ever the optimist.

“Helen,” Goeth groaned in the woman's direction, seemingly intent on some action as he attempted to prop himself up a bit.

“Oh yes,” the maid jumped to reach into the inside of her coat as if startled out from some trance into reality while just standing there staring at her 'husband' and handed over a gun, holding it downwards as she passed the Luger over to a somewhat confused Schindler. Helen then pulled a CZ 27 out too, holster and all, having been in the possession of both of Goeth's pistols by the looks of it. 

“Why do you have his guns,” Stern gestured vaguely in that direction.

“I took them off him when he tried to take his own life,” Helen disclosed timidly, wincing, as if what she had done was some sort of crime. Many many Nazi officers had done the same over the last few weeks and stopping them wouldn't have been on a lot of people's minds.

The onlookers were too dumbfounded to react much, not till after Helen undid the buckles on the suitcase she had brought and handed over a rifle from it too. “I don't think guns are going to solve the problem, not this time,” Schindler was guarded, but handed the item over to his accountant anyway. 

“It's a bit too late to change sides, don't you think,” Stern commented gruffly under his nose quietly to himself.

“Helen,” Goeth prompted again hoarsely, which made the woman open the suitcase wider and pull out another, smaller case that would customarily be used for money and that was what was indeed in it as apparent after Helen clicked it open and placed it onto the desk, turning it towards the accountant. 

“What's this for,” Stern was lost.

“Remains of the money Herr Schindler paid for the workers' relocation,” Helen explained.

“So you keep Helen safe,” Goeth was clear and loud-voiced on that despite his condition. 

Schindler frowned, “that's not how it works, Amon. I don't even understand how you would think...” He shook his head, “besides, that's at least fifty people's worth in fees that I paid you.”

“She's worth fifty people, you know that.”

“She's safe here either way. I don't need to be given money for that.”

Stern took a step forward and cleared his throat. “Yes, yes,” the industrialist acknowledged his right hand man's efforts to remind him how painfully they needed money to be able to keep providing for the workers. “But you know what. You remember when you came to me a few weeks back asking if I had any money at all stashed away somewhere that you didn't know about and I presented you with a bag of cash?”

“Well, there's not much left of that.”

“But do you know where it came from. Amon. It came from Amon, when I visited him in Vienna. What did you think I paid for the provisions with that I brought back.”

“I don't understand.”

“Amon gave it back to me. He, we all thought he was dying there and then with the amount of blood that he was constantly vomiting up so yes, I will not take whatever you have left Amon. You will need that to flee.”

Goeth gave him a crazed look, one that was supposed to delineate his friend's state of mind more than his own, along with a depreciating snort, “the party's over, Oskar.”

It was at this moment that the doctor finally stepped forward, bent enough by circumstances to say, “obviously I know of the history of alcoholism, but I need to know a little bit more than stomach haemorrhage to be of any help. When did this start?”

Stern gave half an eye roll before snatching up the case of money and going off to mind his business, clearly not in the mood to watch the spectacle. Schindler sighed, letting some of the tension out his broad shoulders now that the conflict was put on hold for a little while. “Early January,” Helen filled in, “but he's regularly had severe stomach pains for long before that. Going back as far as Plaszow,” she looked at the factory owner for substantiation. They've both been there on many of those occasions.

“Yes,”Schindler responded to the challenge, “I've told him many such times to stop drinking that motor oil.”

“Does he still drink?” Stein enquired, now going as much forward as to take his patient's pulse, “undo his uniform and shirt please,” he instructed Helen at the same time. 

“I tried not to give him any, but he was way worse when the withdrawal set in.”

“I would assume, with the amount he was drinking.” 

“Besides, without pain killers, it's the only thing that gives him some comfort.”

“Pain management we can do,” the doctor was in no way gentle when he moved to examine the now exposed abdomen. It resulted in Goeth crying out, then attempting to pat the hand away, and going even whiter than before instead as he trembled helplessly, prompting Helen to take his hand into hers. 

“Stein?” Schindler enquired, frowning.

“As I said, I can give him some sedatives, I don't see much point to wasting what little penicillin we have on him.”

“Not even to get him to make it to a war tribunal to answer for his crimes,” Helen produced the brazen, unusual and forward thinking argument.

Stein seemed not to know what to make of it, “and the point to that is? Besides, I'm pretty sure it's too late for antibiotics. Peritonitis has set in. I can take some of the pain away and I suggest rehydration with water mixed with salt and a sugar. Perhaps even some alcohol, just to stop any seizures resulting from withdrawal. If you want to extend the agonising dying process that is. Perhaps you should shoot him right away, show him what mercy means.”

“I should remind you that we are still under Nazi rule no matter how close the Allied Forces may be,” the factory owner was troubled to the point of pulling the doctor with him for a more eye to eye conversation, “is there really nothing you can do for him. Look who's asking, it's me, your Direktor you have all pledged to do everything for and I didn't ask you for such promises.”

“The Herr Kommandant is very ill either way. But I could also give him something to stop the bleeding and quell the nausea,” Stein hum-hoed hesitantly.

“That's more like it.”

“He needs fluids and a blood transfusion as well.”

“Don't you have the equipment.” Schindler knew he had personally acquired things like that for his workers years ago.

“They are a little old, but they should work,” the Jew agreed, “you want me to use the penicillin.”

“Everything. Please,” the factory owner squeezed the other man's arm good-naturedly. 

“Jawohl Herr Direktor,” the doctor's nod and setting to work was the last on the matter.

Tbc


	2. Stille Nacht

Chapter 2: Stille Nacht 

Stern usually slept in the office and even tough he had to give up the sofa, he was not going to give up being in the only room in the whole factory where there was a functioning stove. While April was fully in swing with patches of sunshine every day, it was hard to overcome the chill of the freezing temperatures that had plagued the factory all winter long and more. The crackling of embers usually served as a good lullaby to his disquietening dreams, but tonight the moans and gasps of the butcher of Plaszow were way too disturbing for a satisfactory sleep. The accountant sat up and placed his glasses on, fed up with tossing and turning. It was still early, but the light of the fire from the stove was starting to be overpowered by the light of dawn and the silhouettes of the sofa were clearly visible-the captain lying on his side curled up around his stomach, eyes wild with pain and agitation as if looking for an out while knowing there was none and Helen, dozed off as she lay stuck to him from the back, an arm interlacing with his. 

“Stern..” The commandant's voice was scratchy and breathy, expression desperate, and the Jew had every intention of ignoring him and perhaps set off for an otherwise unnecessary morning walk instead.

“Bucket..” 

The Polish man glanced back to see the afflicted officer struggle to angle his head at the edge with a silent gag, hands clutching his stomach with rigid fingers in desperation. Stern has long passed affording himself to feel much during the ordeal of the war and thus was able to disregard the spectacle that he should have taken pleasure in, but his couch, the one he slept on every other night, that he could not let be covered in Goeth's disgusting vomit. It was the soot bucket he pulled over quickly and the Nazi only took a few agonising breaths before he puked into it, something brown, yellow and vile that Stern had no intention of examining, though he decided he would get rid of it for the smell. “Are you done?” He enquired clinically. 

Goeth was a shivering mess, unable to answer and considerably whiter than he had been just moments ago, yet his stomach didn't seem to let off as he dug his fingers deeper, essentially seizing with the cramp. “Amon!” Helen jumped into a sitting position, her exhausted sleep now interrupted, “Amon,” she pleaded with him to attract his attention.

“It's morning. It's been a while since his last dose of pain medication,” Stern commented colourlessly as explanation.

“Can you get the doctor?” Helen was hopeful, encouraged by the interaction. Her hand rubbed at Goeth's lower back, knowing she couldn't touch his belly without causing him further pain. 

Stern raised his eyebrows, then noticeably shook his head as he stood. The Stein family slept just down the hall and it wasn't his place to question Schindler's choices, not at this point. When he came back a few minutes later, Helen had Goeth turned onto his back and he seemed a lot calmer as they lay looking into each other's eyes, fingers interlacing. “Stein will be here in a moment,” the accountant announced, regarding them guardedly. 

“The ring Helen. Under no circumstances can you been mistaken for an officer's wife,” Goeth pulled the band off the young woman's finger. “Stern.” At this moment in time, the Nazi sounded every bit like the commandeering demigod he had always been. “Take it,” he handed over the jewelry item, “I'm sure there are still people available to be bribed.”

“To do what.” The accountant was used to receiving instructions.

“I don't care,” Goeth seemed to have lost steam again, but took a sudden interest the moment he backpedalled. “Stern. Take Helen to put some poor woman's clothes on and a yellow badge.”

“Amon..” Helen's lips trembled in trepidation. He had never made her wear that before. 

“This is how you survive this time. Go. Burn your false papers too.”

“There's no rush Amon, I don't want to leave you when you're in pain.”

“It's the best time to leave me when the doctor is here,” he nodded in the direction of the arriving Stein.

Helen winced, detaching herself uncertainly. She could not trust any of the prisoners not to turn on them at any moment, and all the doctor had to do was overdose him just a little. Not to mention she had no idea how any of them would relate to her after her having lived with the Jew murderer for several months. They would understand that she didn't have a choice if she wanted to survive, but nobody would approve of her odd attachment to him. “I've got some of those in storage,” Stern said helpfully, expecting her to move, “this way.”

The Jewish woman shed her woollen, expensive looking shawl and placed it onto her putative husband's back, arranging it in a way that it has taken her more time than absolutely was necessary. Will he still relate to her the same way when she came back wearing the star. Also, why did that matter. If he was racist then why should she care about his view of her. And yet there was so much anxiety bubbling inside her to take the step. “Ich liebe dich,” Goeth was also reluctant to let go. 

It made Helen hesitate further. It wasn't a question of saying the words back, she never did and he would never made her, not if she didn't mean it but the desperation in his eyes got her thinking about the enemy's religious beliefs. While the Reich did not encourage religion of any kind, it was undeniable that most Nazis were raised Catholic and Goeth's family had been exceedingly so and by Amon's admission, the only reason they weren't prosecuted for it was that he had managed to arrange it. She knelt back next to him and looked him into the eyes up close, “would you want a priest?” It wouldn't have been unusual to find all kinds of members of the opposition in these camps besides the Jews. 

It took the officer a few moments to digest the words in the muddled state his mind was in, but once he did, his eyes turned wild and filled with a manic mirth that transformed into an audible snort and then an unhinged titter ending in the pain taking over, making him close his eyes, stiffen and struggle to regain his breath. “If there's a kind of god that would forgive my sins, then that god would be by definition evil,” Goeth stated on a weak voice as matter of factly as his illness let him. The words evidently exhausted him and he seemed to close himself into the half aware oblivion that had been making it easier for him to get through each minute. 

“Can you help him.” Helen stood to look into the doctor's eyes. It was the first time she would openly admit her feelings for the Austrian and her divided allegiances in front of these people, but at this point she couldn't watch him suffer more.

“I can, to some extent,” Stein agreed guardedly, his mind trying hard to work out the paradox of what he was witnessing. 

“You love him.” Stern also wanted to know. There was a distinct contradiction attached to the situation. With what Helen has seen, with what they've all seen Goeth do, it shouldn't have been possible, so the accountant concluded that he must have been missing something.

“I don't,” Helen defended herself on principle. She didn't think it possible either, but wondered despite herself whether Goeth had heard her. 

“Well, come,” the accountant settled for action instead of contemplation like he had always preferred, “there isn't much choice in clothing, but I'm sure we can find something.”

tbc


	3. Kommst du mit

Chapter 3: Kommst du mit

Stern escorted the transformed Helen back towards the factory office. Her apparel didn't indeed look any different to the other women's in the plant, but she was perhaps noticeably more well fed and less wan and grubby. She was rather weary stepping in and paused by the partially glass door, stepping to the side by the wall rather than going forward. Goeth was indeed looking at her, his eyes following her moves, and there was no doubt that his gaze indeed settled on the yellow brand on her chest longer than it was necessary, but then he held out a hand for her, urging her to go to him and Schindler moved out the way to facilitate it, turning his attention on the doctor instead, “how many of those pills am I supposed to give him.”

“I have written everything down here,” Stein patted a leather bag he was in the middle of closing.

“What is going on?” Stern voiced his confusion.

“My dear friend,” Schindler put a hand on his accountant's shoulder, “the unconditional surrender of Germany has just been announced. The war is over. Tomorrow you'll begin the process of looking for survivors of your families. The guards have fled but I am also a member of the Nazi Party. I'm a munitions manufacturer. I am a profiteer of slave labour. I am... a criminal. From now on you are free and I'll be hunted. I have to flee. This is goodbye.”

Stern shook his head, “we will vouch for you. Every one of us here in the factory. There are eleven hundred people who are alive because of you. There will be generations because of what you did. It will be alright.”

“Depending on who arrives here to liberate the camp, that might even work. But I can't stay. I have to get Amon out of here. There's nobody else who can. I know you don't understand why but will you forgive me my friend?”

“That man has murdered thousands of people, hundreds with his own hands.”

“Yes.” Schindler's voice was quiet and penitent, but his eyes had a flash of pleading gleam. “Only, he is my friend. Helen's partner. The father of her unborn child. Stern, as you know, I am truly and utterly destitute. I would like to work for his money, not simply take it and what I can do for it is use my remaining contacts to reach Switzerland.”

“I never asked you to do so,” Goeth shook his head. 

“I doubt he will make it,” Stein gave his medical opinion. 

“The last thing he wants is being moved, he's in too much pain for that,” Helen held her man's hand compassionately, though her words were somewhat hesitant. What if he could make it.

“He will be unavoidably moved when taken prisoner at any case,” Schindler argued, “and that won't be as gentle as I would move him.”

“Why don't you just all leave,” Goeth was getting harried, “what I need is a gun, that's all. That would solve everyone's problems.”

“I'm still here!” Helen sounded angry, “I will not allow it.”

“I won't either,” Stern claimed, “I want him to answer for his deeds.”

“You can argue all you like, but at this very moment, I am still in charge here,” Schindler used his last card, “we are going,” he picked the invalid up without further ado the same way as he had brought him in and started down the stairs with him to his awaiting car, largely ignoring the gasps and shaky breaths of his cargo.

“Say your goodbyes,” the industrialist took the medical bag off Helen, who had picked it up to carry it down.

The brunette peeked into the automobile, noting how pale her putative husband had gotten. She was reluctant to shake him out his preoccupancy with fighting to get the pain and nausea under control as he had his eyes closed and he let his head roll backwards against the side of the car, though it was her pathos that made her reach out and squeeze his leg comfortingly. Words were unnecessary, which is just as well because he was unable to voice them, what with breathing being difficult enough in itself without his stomach exploding in a burst of anguish. So he just stared at her sad features for as long as possible, pretty much oblivious to what was said around him. If only he could make her laugh, just the once. He couldn't do much either when a distance seemed to come between them with the door closing, and then, after a beat, with the car starting to move. “There's enough space for you to bring your legs up onto the seat if that's more comfortable,” Schindler instructed from the front seat, leaning over through the gap to make sure, “can you do it yourself or shall I help?”

Goeth was slow in responding, in looking up and taking in what was said, but then he nodded at Schindler's concerned face and pulled his legs up in one go, facilitated by what was perhaps sheer will, regardless of the cry that escaped his lips at the movement and the shakes that went through his body afterwards. With a sheen of sweat on his face, eyes shining bright, he gave his friend a pensive smile, “power. How relative a term that is.”

Schilder smiled back, encouraged by the life in him he had demonstrated with those words, “hang on Amon, we're aren't going far today. I know a bishop in Koniggratz who will help us.“

tbc


	4. Der Letzten Sitzung

Chapter 4: Der Letzten Sitzung

March 25th, 1945 Vienna

„Is that you Helen?“ Schindler almost didn't stop the elegant and cosily dressed brunette who had passed the doctor's office's treshold and stepped ou into the cold night still gripping the capital of Austria.

The woman only gave him a half glance and kept her head down as she walked on, but once recognition set in, she turned and gave him a sad smile before boldly setting a hand on his arm and pulling him further away from the door into the darkness of the street, „are you alright Herr Direktor?“

„Why wouldn't I be? Oh because of being at the doctor's? No, I'm fine, I'm just trying to barter on some supplies. Is that for you?“ He eyed the medicine bottle in the paper bag on her wrist she held. 

„Oh no, it is for Amon,“ she whispered hesitantly. 

„I'm so glad he kept his promise to me to keep you safe,“ Schindler looked into her eyes, assessing her state of mind. „Is he treating you well? Are you overworked?“

„Not at all Herr Direktor. We have a maid..“

„Another maid to help you?“

„No,“ Helen's voice went even lower, to the extent that Schindler had to lean closer, „my papers. The papers he got me say that I am his wife.“

Schindler's eyes went wider, „he really is insane! Is he treating you well!“ He repeated the question, now more intently, with a different meaning added.

„Yes. Yes, he is treating me well,“ Helen nodded vehemently. „Just because I am with child,“ she spared an involuntary glance at the inscription on the wall beside them that told the world that the particular doctor was an obstetrician amongst other things, „you don't need to think that he's unkind to me.“

„How far along are you?“

„About four months. But that's not why I'm here. Oh Herr Direktor. You need to come see Amon.“

„I'm not really in the position for social visits right now, sorry.“

„Please, Herr Schindler. We need you. He needs you.“

„In what way?“

„He's in a bad way. I wanted to take him to the hospital, but he's refusing. It's all about concealing he's not fit for duty, still.“

„I wonder if anybody cares anymore. Changes are coming, I keep getting told. How much does Amon believe of that? Does he understand?“

Helen shook her head, „yes, but the SS-Totenkopfverbände is less tolerant than ever, including of its own ranks. They are looking for someone to blame for every little failure and charging them with different crimes, from theft to treason. Amon says they're making sure to be able to rely on those that are left with trust, for the rat lines. What with people shooting themselves in the head, there aren't many left.”

“Quite the changed days! Out in the country, I didn't realise it was that intense. Is he preparing to flee?” Schindler drew his conclusions. 

“No.”

“Hm. Can't say that surprises me.”

“No, Herr Schindler, you don't understand. He's too ill for any of ventures. If you'd talk to him, maybe..he would want to see you. He still has connections if you need anything, food, information.”

“I don't have any money left to offer in return,” the German admitted sadly, “I couldn't even pay for the medicine I came for, the doctor wouldn't give it out as I was quite a few thousand Reichsmarks short.”

“Oh, how much do you need,” Helen dug into her handmuffs and pulled out a roll of banknotes she discreetly thrust into a surprised Schindler's hands, taking extra care even under the veil of darkness, “you can use it, it won't be a problem.”

“Helen! Where do you have this from! Did you take it off Amon?” Schindler was too weary to hand the item back, no noticeable onlookers or not. 

“I'm to use the money on daily expenses, taxi, groceries, whatever I see fit, not to mention I've saved up some as Amon just leaves it out for me every day and it's way too much. I've been giving it out to the homeless for the lack of anything better to do with it. So just take it, it's alright, I owe you so much for your generosity at the mansion.”

“Amon leaves you in charge of money?” The benefactor was thrown.

Helen nodded, “he has given me every likeness to what a wife would have had in this position, to the smallest detail. Just so we don't get into a pickle, not knowing how to explain ourselves when questioned separately, he said.”

“That's amazing,” Schindler couldn't help saying, “I didn't think he would go to those extremes. I was in fact hoping for the opposite, that he would give up on the idea of keeping you, I've even asked of you at Auschwitz in case you were transferred.”

“I thank you for your care Herr Direktor.”

“It's nothing, it's nothing.”

“Will you come then? To give council if nothing else?”

“Do you stay far?”

“Just three corners away. Put that away now, there's no need for Amon to know,” she directed his fist that held the banknotes towards his pocket as if only just taking his arm for the walk.

Tbc


	5. Kein Grund

Chapter 5: Kein Grund

“Amon!” Helen dropped everything at the entrance, leaving it to Oskar Schindler to close the door behind them while she rushed to the man lying on the floor next to the couch in the living space the door opened into in the small apartment on the second floor. “Talk to me,” she patted his cheek, raising his head out of the mess on the floor, a puddle mostly comprising of blood. “Oh my god please, I don't know if he's alive! How do I know if he's alive!” The woman looked to the factory owner in desperation. 

“Alright, calm down, check for breathing, lean close to his mouth,” Schindler took to the small table with the gas lamp he quickly lit and picked the light up to bring it up close to add to the luminescence of the other one that was nearby the couch so they could assertain Goeth's condition better.

“I think..I think I can feel it,” Helen reported, a little bit more restrained now. “You check.”

“He's quite warm, he's alive,” the industrialist assured as soon as she touched his friend. 

“Will he survive this though!”

“How often does this happen?”

“It doesn't! It's normally just a little blood mixed in with vomit.”

“Alright, don't worry, it's not that much.”

“We need to take him to the hospital whether he likes it or not. They can do something for him there, right? Some doctors still left?”

“I don't know. You probably know better in what state the hospital is right now. But my car. I left it over at the doctor's office. Do you have one?”

“Yes, yes, it's not far. Can you manage him down the stairs?”

“Haven't I carried him up the stairs before at the villa,” Schindler tried to manoeuvre his friend into a position where he had better grip on him without causing him much harm.

“Wait, let me clean him up,” Helen obviously didn't want Goeth to be seen in the condition he was in and grabbed the towel and the wash basin while Schindler cradled the officer's upper body in his lap. “Just a little,” the lady of the house commented, removing the blood stains from the captain's jawline and ear. The movement and the water seemed to have had some kind of effect on the Viennese man as he squirmed and moaned, prompting Helen to leave her hand by his cheek to cup his face and lean closer, “hey. Liebling?” The unlikely words left her mouth, making Schindler pull back a little in wonder.

“Got the medicine?” Goeth whispered.

“Yes, but we need to get you to the hospital. You could bleed out. Herr Schindler can carry you.”

Those words certainly had an effect as Goeth's eyes snapped open to stare into his friend's eyes up close. “Hi,” Schindler gave him a little encouraging smile.

“You're here, you're really here,” heartened, the officer raised a hand to draw his weak fingers over the other man's chest as if to assure himself of the reality. “What are you doing here?” Goeth came further back to awareness. 

“Long story, not important right now. You're really unwell, Amon. Do you know anyone at hospital we can take you to?”

“No, no you can't.”

“But Amon, you could die.”

“I have been compromised,” the invalid shook his head, “they want to take me away and lock me up.”

“What? Why?” The former spy was suddenly fearful that their business dealings got exposed as they would obviously be frowned upon at best. 

“Not performing duties properly and allowing unauthorised access to personnel records of the administration of the camp at Płaszów by prisoners and non-commissioned officers.”

Schindler blanched. So it really was all his fault, and well, Stern's. “I'm so sorry my friend.”

Goth waved him off, “but they were mainly disturbed by me appearing totally drunk in front of the Reichsführer-SS.”

“Himmler? Really? You were drunk?” The industrialist did find a certain amount of humour in that, “why would you do that?”

“He was talking a lot of nonsense,” was Goeth's estimation, “Oskar, they'll send me before an SS-judge. I was warned not to drink while on duty again.”

Helen cast an exasperated look at Schindler, “they would have to treat you first.”

“Yes my friend,” Schindler joined in with the encouragement. “Besides, Germany's defeat is close, they won't have time for going through with the charges.”

“You mean they'll just dish out judgement on the spot? That should be so much better, huh,” Goeth of course was the master of that himself, “you know it's not only my life that's at stake here.”

The factory owner frowned. He had to admit that none of the options were great. “Maybe moving him would set off the bleeding again. Maybe the best thing we can do is have him rest,” he hesitated while still offering an alternative to Helen. 

“Let's get him into the bed at least,” Helen pleaded, unsure now herself. 

“Of course,” Schindler finally made use of the position he already had Amon in for the purposes of lifting him up. 

“This way,” the former maid showed him towards the bedroom where the large, double bed indeed seemed comfortable. 

“Are you alright?” The ammunitions manufacturer wanted to make sure following Goeth's moans and squirming as he was arranged on the top of the covers with some more blankets.

“Helen knows what to do,” the captain forced out through shaky beaths, clearly in considerable discomfort. 

“Do you?” Schindler looked at the woman for guidance.

“Well, I can make him feel more comfortable with compresses,” Helen grabbed a fresh towel from the wardrobe to wet it this time.

“I will be fine,” Goeth tried to reassure both of them, “we'll just stay here, lay low for now.”

“You're not getting up?” The putative wife wanted to make sure, “for any reason?”

“No.”

“Not even tomorrow? No work?”

“I don't think I can go to the office now either way,” the Nazi sounded very analytical and matter of fact, “it's unpredictabile what happens every day.”

“Won't they send someone after you?”

“They might, in which case they can see that I'm ill, and a random subordinate coming would not know how to report it in a way that harms my case. This is the best option that I can think of, Helen.”

The dark brunette looked up at Schindler from her perch on the side of the bed where she was gently organising the compress on the Austrian's stomach she exposed, “what do you think?”

“I think Amon knows the situation around here better, as well as his body. I think it should be up to him either way.”

“Oskar, always the wise!” Goeth's eyes twinkled appreciatively. 

“Not so wise now,” Schindler admitted, “I never really planned this far ahead to be honest,” he frowned, “I wasn't sure we would ever get this far.”

“Tell me what's wrong,” Goeth confidentially patted the side of the bed that was free. 

“I don't want to burden you with it, you need to rest.

“But I've so longed for one of our talks.”

“Please stay Herr Schindler,” Helen did not want left alone with the responsibility of keeping her so called husband alive. 

“Well I don't know,” the ammunitions manufacturer hesitated. It's not like here he could share his concern and care for the Jews he had under his protection and the sooner he went back to Brunnlitz, the safer it was for the workers.

“Oskar,” Goeth gestured insistently with his head, which was clearly an effort for him so Schindler swithered no further and settled down closer to the other man. 

“I'll prepare the medication, don't let him up,” Helen took the opporchancity to go back for the cargo she had discarded at the door, “I will need to heat up some water to mix the powders.”

“Oskar,” the invalid repeated confidentially this time, leaning his head towards Schindler once the woman was out of sight, “do you think she can forgive me.” His eyes shone bright and clear, as if fevered. 

The industrialist's eyes went wide too, hardly able to process what he was hearing. Was it a deathbed thing, his guilt? “You can't talk like that.”

“Why not. If it isn't tonight, then I die tomorrow, the day after, two weeks from now, one way or another, under the circumstances. Either way, longer than that sounds ambitious and unrealistic. And I don't want her to hate me. I can't stand the thought.”

“Have you made amends,” Schindler tried to be helpful. 

“I treat her like a lady, but then again that's how it always should have been,” Goeth mused, “and the other Jews, I can't take that back..wait, wait! I can!” The captain became agitated, “she will have to appreciate it, the gesture, it has to count for something!”

“What Amon?” Oskar shook his head as if that could unscamble Goeth's head too. The officer sounded drunk even though Schindler was pretty sure there was no alcohol in the apartment, not unless medicinal, the ex-maid would have taken care of it. “Calm down, you need to lie still!” The benefactor tried to physically enforce his friend staying down by lightly pushing at his shoulders.

“Helen, the seif!” Goeth took care of the medicine held in a cup in the arriving woman's hands by quickly grabbing for it and downing it, “you know the combination, don't you.”

“Your sister's birthday?” Helen was hesitant, not confident about revealing she indeed knew.

“Go, go get everything from it!” The invalid urged. He had to say it again as she paused, confused. “I want you to take all the money out and bring it here!”

Helen exchanged a guarded look with Schindler, who looked just as confounded as she was, only then did she set about the follow the orders. “Amon, you need to concentrate on your health, on resting, forget about everything else just now,” the benefactor tried again.

“It's my dying wish,” he whispered, “to make things right. For Helen.”

Schindler shook his head in concern, really dawning on him that he might really be having a dying man on his hands, “your sister. Is there any chance of getting word to her to come and see you?”

Goth waved him off, “she's safer where she is. Helen,” he gestured the still hesitant woman over so he could take the stacks of money wrapped into newspaper and thrust it into Schindler's hands, “blood money, bribes, mostly yours. I don't want it. Take it. I shouldn't have tried to stop you taking the workers. It was your right and theirs.”

“But Amon..”

“Look, Oskar, there are certain things I cannot take back, but this is one of the very few that I can. Take it.”

“Take the money Herr Schindler, you need it,” Helen offered her view quietly, taking Goeth's hand into hers instead. 

“What happened to you Amon?” Dying man or not, the change in him was hard for the manufacturer to believe.

“I just want Helen,” Goeth whispered, his eyes desperately clinging to hers as if that could alleviate the physical pain he was in too. 

“I'm here,” the woman pacified, “it's alright, I'm here.” She could do this, be there for him. As long as he didn't ask her to forgive him. She nodded at him encouragingly, then turned to their visitor, “I've got this. I will care of him like I've always had.”

Schindler stood hesitantly, ready to react to any suggestive detail that his place was still here. Goeth however seemed to have calmed down, or was too exhausted to do anything else but hold on to the hand offered. “You know where to find me if you need me,” the German offered as a last attempt for keeping his allegiance with these two people, both of whom have genuinely surprised him in the last hour. 

Goeth turned his head towards the sound without opening his eyes, “goodbye old friend,” he whispered before settling back into his pillows with a pained groan.

Tbc


	6. Keiner Anfang

Chapter 6: Keiner Anfang

April 26th, 1944, Płaszów

No more noise could be heard from upstairs for about half an hour and so this was the time, Helen's chance to go there quietly and without being detected or disturbed in tidying up the living room and the dining room of the villa, collect all the glasses, bottles and plates, clean up any spillages and rearrange the furniture to its proper place after the party. As gatherings went in this house, the one from the night before wasn't a particularly large one and it wasn't a particularly happy one either as neither Herr Schindler or his usually merry and interesting entourage was present. Most of these parties mainly just served as enablers for the Herr Kommandant to get very inebrieted, not that he needed any excuse. Helen however didn't mind that as Goeth was oftentimes more manageable when drunk, especially as opposed to being hungover, basically the only two states he ever was in. Just a few glasses and he was more lenient, sometimes to the point of apathy lately so that definitely equalled to less demanding and particular. Not to mention he barely ate so the maid's duties reduced to mainly providing meals to the guests and the dogs that were starting to take to her of late since she'd been feeding them personally. A scary thought, since they last person the Ralf and Rolf preferred received a dire fate from the commander. 

What was taxing however at current was her unpredictable hours of work, having to stay up till after the captain went to bed and making sure she was ready early if he required breakfast or one of the hangover cures he sometimes tried, to no avail, according to Helen. His often and overly affected state also necessitated that the Jew woke him up every day as well, especially since he had thrown his lover Ruth permanently out. So given her daily responsibilties, the maid was hoping it wasn't overly untidy up there and that indeed everyone has left like she'd assumed, including Goeth retreating into his bedroom like he would usually do at this time. 

The chandellier she didn't turn on as she was well used to working by the light coming in at the balcony from the floodlights used for guarding the outside fences of the camp. She filled the tray she brought with leftovers and ashtrays, once, twice and hopefully one last time before she could retreat. It was on this last trip when she went to retrieve the bottles from the balcony that she almost tripped over, having accidentally kicked into something soft on the floor. Pulling the curtains out the way a little for access, she stifled a gasp in fear of retaliation as it was the Herr Kommandant she had unwittingly assaulted but her worries proved unfounded as there was no response or any movement from the camp's main overseer. 

Helen took a moment to gather herself, then carried on with the clearing and cleaning of tables and chairs, taking extra care not to make too much noise and wake up the Nazi lying on his back by the balcony door. She noticed some spillage on the floor that also needed a wash, but was distracted by the strange sounds that came from the captain's direction. She froze, alarmed, her first instinct being to make a run for it as if she hadn't been there and come back to finish her job later. It was this terrified state that stopped her from realising what the sounds meant at first, that they signified the man choking on his own vomit unconscious as he was. 

It was a liberating moment. All Helen had to do was nothing, maybe even slink away and pretend she was never there and their sole god and executioner at the camp would be dead. But then again, SS-Obersturmführer Buscher would be next in line and somehow, the maid did not fancy her chances with the older officer. The next moment, she was by Goeth's side, using all her might to turn him over and pat his back till the torrent of foul smelling half digested alcohol spurted out his mouth, ruining the state of his shirt. Still struggling for breath, his eyes flew open and he grabbed for purchase, finding it in Helen's arm, which he hung onto all throughout the episode till he finished throwing up and gained his breath back, sagging down to curl around his stomach with shaky groans. 

Helen took the opportunity to reach for her cloth she used for cleaning up and hesitantly made a start with the most recent mess that occured, half waiting for Goeth to make some kind of move or request that told her what she should do next as leaving she didn't dare. But as slow as she was working, she had finished with everything and the Kommandant still lay in the same position, perhaps back to sleep, only his evened out breathing still sometimes sounded like a moan. Guarded, she knelt back next to him, studying his features. The furrowed forehead, the lipbite, the fingers digging into his belly, no, he was definitely not asleep. “I could clean you up if you'd like, Herr Kommandant,” she whispered as a test.

Goeth turned his head towards the sound and opened bleary eyes to stare at her at length, seemingly having trouble focusing before wincing, “my stomach hurts a lot,” he looked at her as if expecting some sort of resolution. 

“I going to get you some water, alright?” Helen panicked, knowing she could not provide efficient relief and fulfil his wishes. She jumped up, mainly to get away and found him waiting patiently in the same position when she came back with the glass, only his bright eyes following her. 

“Help me sit,” he grunted, pushing down on the ground with his palm but not getting anywhere. 

Helen was once again unsure of what exactly was expected of her and how to approach and touch him, but ultimately decided for supporting his back and under his armpits till he was upright and balanced enough to have it count as a sitting position. “Alright?” She was trying to gauge when to hand him the glass as he still had his head hanging and his arms around his midsection. 

“Nauseous,” he indicated, swaying, then leaned against her, his forhead buried in her chest. “Give me a moment,” he muttered, clearly making an effort to take deep breaths till he could pull back and reached himself for the glass sitting on the floor where she had left it when she started handling him. “I need this shirt off,” he slurred after a couple of mouthfulls, “smell making me feel sick.”

The maid did not hesitate fulfilling his orders this time as they were clear now, this much she could do. That she was by this point herself half covered in his vomit didn't even register with her, it was his command that needed done at all times if she wanted to live. “Your trousers might have the same effect,” she suggested, looking at the stain on his legs.

“Mmm. Help me up,” he put an arm round her shoulders to fascilitate said maneouvre, but Helen ended up having to do the brunt of the exercise, his legs jello and his coordination nonexistent.

“Bed?” Helen hoped to put him there and be done with it, with everything going back to how it always has been, with Goeth taking care of himself to the same extent as usual. 

“Too far,” the man whined, holding onto Helen's arm tighter.

“The couch,” the maid came up with the solution. After all it was only a few steps away, not that the smaller distance made it much easier to transport the drunken officer. Holding him round the waist, Helen basically carried him over and was barely able to keep hold of him long enough, resulting in her virtually dropping him onto the cushions, once again expecting a retaliation for the handling that never came so after a pause, she took to removing those trousers of his they've talked about earlier, leaving him in nothing but his underwear and socks. This either he didn't contend, but she thought she had to get permission for the next part for its delicate nature, “I should clean you up?” She suggested. 

“Bitte,” came the surprising and clear, but shaky answer. Not that he never used polite words, but rarely in private. 

“I'll just get some clean cloths,” Helen raced to satisfy him by making it into the kitchen and back with her bowl of water in record time. He looked uncomfortable as he waited for her, shifting and squirming, eying the mess on his chest now that he had been made aware of it. The brunette started there, working quick like she always has been. He seemed to be breathing out with relief after pretty much every swipe and by the time he could be declared clean enough, he had relaxed into a more natural stupor for his state. 

The maid sat back at a loss once more, not sure of the correct course of action she should take now and how he'd react to what's transpired once he sobered a little. One thing for sure though, she could not leave him so close to naked so she fetched one of the throws from a nearby armchair to cover him with. He was clutching his belly when she turned back, more alert than she would have wanted him as she lay the throw over him. 

Goeth immediately pushed it back down, away from his stomach so it was only covering his legs and groins. “I need you to help,” he sounded like he was whinging.

“Jawohl, Herr Kommandant?” Helen was confused about the nature of the help.

“Cramping,” he rubbed a hand across his upper belly, “rub it.”

Helen was dumbfounded a little. Of course she had been cutting his fingernails on a regular basis, had just washed him down, was often catching him admiring her looks and he admittedly fought hard against the impulse to touch her, so now she was supposed to provide a massage? “I'm not sure I would be good at it, Herr Kommandant,” the brunette voiced her worries. After all, she wasn't a nurse and she could be causing him more pain instead than alleviating it and then where does that leave her.

“I don't care,” he instantly reached to grab her hand and pull her closer, hand she then placed on his stomach where it hurt most. “Go on,” he gave her room. 

“I'm sorry if this is painful,” Helen excused herself ahead of making a move, certain it will be a disaster. She was expected to do something however so she took the plunge and applied some pressure while drawing her hands across his upper belly. Not meeting any objections, she repeated the action, then gaining more confidence, she expanded the berth and the depth her fingers went, though she never dared to initiate any sudden changes and it must have been working as well as he calmed and quietened. Trying to be in tune, she reduced the motion again till she slowly and gradually ventured to stop, quite certain he was finally asleep. Maybe she could get an hour or two herself before she had to come back to get him up in the morning. Cautiosly, she rose, then almost cried out in alarm when a hand grabbed her wrist all of a sudden. “I'm sorry, I was going to let you sleep,” she backtracked.

He waved her words off however as something unimportant, only stared at her unwaveringly, making her unsure what he wanted now. “You didn't need to save my life,” he stated factually, “you're wonderful, I mean it. Is it possible that you feel for me too like I feel for you?” She didn't know how to answer, the truth wasn't exactly flattering, but it wasn't unusual of her not to say anything given that the prisoners were not meant to use their voices so after a beat, he waved her away this time, giving her permission to leave. 

Tbc


	7. Ein Leid Das Du Nie Gehort Hast

Chapter 7: Ein Lied Das Du Nie Gehört Hast

In Helen's opinion, Goeth did not look any better in the light of the morning, just an automatic and unwanted observation popping into her mind, not that she cared. His job however was not going to wait and therefore he slowly raised himself up into a sitting position while the maid was putting out some breakfast for him. His head immediately disagreed with a strong bout of dizziness that made him grab his forehead just to steady himself. His groan was as frustrated as it was pained and he ground his teeth together to quell it. Helen was a good cook and to his surprise the smell of the freshly made eggs didn't even make him want to throw up instantly, but he didn't feel like eating at all, sure that his cramping stomach would protest further. He raised his head slowly, not daring any quick movements as he became aware of the maid's closeness. Helen was closer to him than she ever ventured without being prompted or expected to come and Amon looked on at length as she lay his clean clothes out for the day right there on the couch where he would not need to take a step to put them on. The Nazi groaned again and withdrew his shaking hand he had expended towards his shirt, back to grabbing his belly. “I need your help Helen.”

Without a word or hesitation, the brunette reached out to take the white shirt and put it round him, at the right place where he could slip his other arm in it first, then the one holding his stomach went in it too before he cradled himself again and bent forward, forehead furrowing. “I really don't feel well Helen.” There was no need for the statement as it was blanatly obvious he was poorly, but he had some sort of hope that she had a solution. 

“Perhaps Herr Unterscharfuhrer can supervise the morning operations,” she dared a suggestion seeing as he was expecting a response. 

Goeth shook his head, “I need to go to Szebnie today, see what needs to be done. Then I can maybe delegate.”

“Szebnie?”

“I'm to be in charge of the liquidation of the Szebnie camp too. As if I didn't have enough trouble here,” he complained. 

“Allow me to do up your buttons,” she offered, not wanting to think about what he had said. More liquidations meant more executions but at least he was too ill to shoot random people from the balcony this morning. 

He grunted his assent and leaned back a little to give her access, his still alcoholic breath assaulting her nostrils as she drew closer. The top buttons were easy enough to do, but lower down he seemed to be protecting his stomach, his hand noticeably shaking as he took them out the way. He needed his liqour to settle it and on a normal day, that would be what she would give him with his coffee but this time she wasn't sure if it was a good idea. Goeth leaned back against the couch closing his eyes and undid his trousers, “change them.”

It was without a word and unquestioning that she performed this task too and she added socks and shoes as well without being asked. With a sigh, he pulled himself to his feet and put a hand out to steady himself on her shoulder, swallowing convulsively. To no avail. The movement already set off his currently extremely delicate stomach and he leaned forward to spew acrid bile and unsteadily enough too to have some of it land on his fresh trousers. Helen grabbed for him instinctively as he didn't seem able to hold himself up and lowered him back onto the couch once he looked like he was done vomiting. She drew back to let him catch his breath, “if I take the trousers off now they won't get stained. I can get them rinsed and dry them with an iron within half an hour.”

“I'm sorry Helen, I'm giving you more to do,” Goeth muttered, with Helen straining to hear if she had heard it right. Either way, she had to act quick if she was to fulfill her promise. 

The trousers in any case proved to be easy enough to manage and it wasn't by much over half an hour when she judged them dry enough for him not to object but once again she found him seemingly nodded off. “Herr Kommandant.” Helen had to admit that her voice was too timid to be heard, though most of the time he didn't need more than that to be woken. The Jew forced herself to vocalise the address louder and yet there was no response. Of course shouting at him was out of the question so the maid leaned over to touch his shoulder. “Easy, easy, you'll make yourself sick again with such sudden movements,” she found herself saying despite herself when he jumped into a sitting position after the touch.

“I'm alright,” he arranged himself in a pose that was more comfortable and took a few moments to steady himself, “I can see you've done a great job with the trousers in a short time,” he eyed the item on her arm. 

Helen didn't usually respond to his comments whether they were positive or negative, but given what the two of them already been through in the hours before, she gave him the tiniest of nods in shy acknowledgement of his compliment, “it's just a matter of experience, Herr Kommandant,” the brunette knelt to have better access to slipping his feet into the above garment. 

“I'm always very impressed with your work and then you surprise me with more competence.” Goeth was certainly overdoing the praise by now, “thank you,” he watched her up close as she worked.

“You're welcome.” It was the polite thing to say, yet at this point it didn't feel quite as false as it did at other times. “Do you think you could eat something? I could reheat some things,” she slipped his shoes on, then the jacket. 

“Don't bother,” he sounded put out a little, as if craving her cooking but was unable to manage food.

“Bread works well to settle the stomach,” she ventured the suggestion. After all, her main job was always foremost to take care of him.

“Very well then, the brotchen you baked,” he perked up, hanging onto her as he stood up, “the sun is out, should be nice enough for a bite on the balcony,” he went over to open the door, apparently now able, “come join me.”

Helen was panicking inside. She had always managed to avoid being present at his morning shooting session, but then again, the rifle didn't seem to be in sight. “Bring the tray over,” he sat down by the small table that was sometimes left outside for this very purpose, “sit, sit,” he gestured to the other side of the table. 

The young woman slid onto the chair confused. She didn't dare to look him in the eyes but knew she had to for maybe understanding his intentions. “It would be a pity for all this food to go to waste when supplies are running low,” he pushed his plate towards her, only taking off one brotchen. “What are you waiting for, eat,” he encouraged at the sight of her frozen and guarded expression. 

The brunette dared one bit of his salami. She quickly thrust it into her mouth and Goeth had to prompt her again, “I know the eggs are not warm, but the way you season it its nice even when cold. You should put some flesh on those bones. Go on.”

Helen shoved a quick succession of bites into her mouth, not because she was too hungry, but because the experience was awkward and she wanted to get it over with. She swallowed the whole thing down swiftly to say, “thank you Herr Kommandant. I've already been lucky enough to serve you in this house where we get more food than I would in the camp. Thank you for that too,” the girl added hastily. 

He waved her off, “you need to build yourself up if you want to pass as an Austrian woman.”

Her eyes snapped up to him, startled. She didn't understand why she'd have to pass as such, but then again he never let her wear the yellow star. “I may like to take you with me sometimes, leave the camp as my maid when I go over to Szebnie. I'll see now what needs done and how long it will take,” he explained. Still, it was a curious idea, letting a Jew outside even if accompanied. “You would not to be allowed to say you're a prisoner, like you are not to say it to the guests coming here.”

“I understand Herr Kommandant.”

“Take more. And slow down, I like to watch you eat. At least as much if I can't keep anything down myself.”

“Yes, Herr Kommandant,” she tried to revaluate how she should be dealing with the situation. Maybe while he was busy watching her he wouldn't shoot anyone.

“So formal. Please drop the Herr Kommandant if we're just ourselves. Just talk to me as if you were addressing a friend. I wanted to discuss things with you anyway, see if you were up for the job. It would be more like an assistant's duties, making sure I had everything I coud need when I was travelling.”

“I will do my best,” she swallowed the 'Herr Kommandant' address with the eggs. 

“Alright then, I should better be on my way. Hujar must be waiting. I will be back tomorrow, I will see you then. You finish up here,” he gestured her to remain sitting as he shuffled past the chair she was sitting on. 

Tbc


	8. Wissen Wir Einfach

Chapter 8: Wissen Wir Einfach 

2nd of June, 1944

Helen woke with a start, sitting up and immediately realising that it was way too bright in the cellar even with the summer's early dawns and that she must've overslept. She gave herself no fraction of a moment to ponder on it however, instead she ran up the stairs practically without daring to draw a breath in her panic not knowing what was expecting her there. But apparently Goeth didn't sleep in without her waking him up and neither did he startle her awake with gunfire like he used to. He was simply sitting out on the balcony behind the table as if patiently waiting for his breakfast. “I'll be back in a moment,” she tried to soften the blow of the consequences of her being late. 

“Helen.” He didn't call out to her loud, it was more breathless and monotone, but his soft voice didn't stop the maid from panicking some more in fear of retaliation for her mistake. 

“Forget breakfast,” he barked.

“Are you...not feeling well enough for it?” While in the past that would have been a private matter and not something she would dare nor care for to ask, these days knowing what was wrong with him was part of her duties so that she could serve him better and she was expected to act upon it as if she would have been some kind of nurse. 

“Never mind that now. Tell me Helen, do you have family or some close friends down there in the camp? Still alive.”

“My sisters. Two sisters.”

“How old? Uhm, well never mind how old. You have lots to do here at the villa today don't you Helen?”

“I have my daily duties..” She started hesitantly, “if we have a party tonight I've not been told yet, so I'm sorry and I'll get to work right away,” she nodded vehemently. 

“There's no party. But today, today you have lots to do,” he intoned slowly, looking at her intently, suggestively, “so much that you will need help from the camp. You will go immediately right now to fetch your sisters and you will keep them here down in the basement for the whole day until at least after sundown. What jobs you give them and how much is up to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Though she did not understand much, certainly not meaning of all this. Still, she would see her sisters. “What is the work you would like us to finish in a hurry like this?”

“Huh?” Goeth seemed far away, buried in his thoughts.

“The work, Sir. For my sisters and I.”

“Oh. You may wash all the rugs or whatever you think needs done. Main thing is that you keep them here with you till...uhm till at least all the chaos that comes with making room for a new batch of five thousand Croatians is over. Go, go, find them before they're lined up,” he waved at her. 

Helen didn't have to be told twice. From the commotion in the camp, it was clear that the officers were already gathering to start the brutal selection process resulting in life or death and she knew that both her sisters were coughing, having never gotten over the colds they've fostered all winter. Helen flew down the stairs as quickly as she could with only one thought in mind and the thought that the captain had practically saved her sisters didn't really sink in till the girls were all sitting safely in the basement cleaning carrots. It was at this point that it occurred to her that she should probably thank him, but by this time he was nowhere to be seen, probably gone off overseeing the impossible operation of making room in a camp that was already at full capacity. So Helen was just thankful for her sisters, sharing as much food and clothing with them as she could, listening to life in the barracks as they worked, getting lunch ready in case the commandant came up for it.

“Where are you Helen?” It was Stern's voice, who as Goeth's accountant was also always exempt from the selection process.

“Here, here,” the maid ran upstairs, cleaning her hands in her clothes as she went. She found the other Jew standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, pulling at his jacket nervously, not looking her in the eyes. “What happened?” Helen prompted, getting more anxious herself. 

“Goeth.”

“What did he do?” Blood stopped in her veins. 

“Well no, he hasn't done anything horrifying, not today as far as I know. It's not that, it's just the weirdest thing. He came into the office, locked the door behind himself, threw up and proceeded to simply lie down onto the floor and curl up. He said not to tell anyone, only you. I was to lock the door from the outside, then come and call for you. I didn't know what to make of it, but he surely did not look well, though I don't think he's that drunk.”

“It's alright, I know what,” Helen immediately grabbed for the cloth she would dunk into water, as well as the medicine bottle he had brought back from Krakow the other day. “Let's go.” Stern had to quicken his steps to keep up with the maid and even then, the pace didn't allow for conversation, not if they were to have a confidential one. Neither of them spared many looks at the trucks leaving the camp for the train station, nor the groups of people being marched up the hill, it would have been too painful to contemplate. Stern handed the key silently to Helen instead. The accountant was once again taken aback by the sight inside the office as Goeth hadn't moved one inch and only seemed even paler with his eyes closed. 

“Don't let anyone in,” Helen instructed as well, then placed the wet cloth round the back of the captain's neck to bring him to his senses a little. 

“Thank you..” Goeth breathed out noticeably in some relief, “Helen?” He grabbed for her hand, looking for comfort and direction. 

“It's alright, I'm here,” the words left the brunette's lips without conscious thought at Stern's complete bewilderment. “I've got your medicine,” she held her master's neck to fascilitate raising his head. 

“It won't work,” he shook his head weakly.

“Why don't we try. Or would it be making you feel more sick, ingesting something?”

“Just a compress,” Goeth shook his head again. 

“Alright,” Helen placed the bottle onto the floor and let his head down too so she could undo some of his shirt buttons to move the wet cloth under it. He curled up tighter around her hand, his groans and forced breathing giving away that he was trying hard to get a hold on his body. 

“Take your time, the door's bolted,” the maid heartened, “nobody can see you.”

“Stern can.”

“He's your confidant you trust with your accounts,” Helen couldn't help herself looking at the holster containing the Nazi's gun. People were shot for a lot less than witnessing one of his moments of weakness. “He won't say anything.”

The accountant indeed was suddenly very busy burying his nose into the books and seemingly calculating something, not that Goeth paid much attention as he was still struggling to get a hold of himself, “I need to go up to the villa, rest some. Help me up.”

“Right away.” For the purpose, it was good he had lost some weight of late because it wasn't as much about helping him, but more like quite literally hoisting him up and leaning him against the desk if she had any hopes of keeping him upright, to the extent that Stern almost jumped at her salvation. Almost. His good sense and Helen's shake of the head told him not to. Goeth leaned against the maid, doubling over. 

“It might be too soon. Let me rub it a little,” Helen took her role of carer on with natural ease based on many experienced occasions where he let her take the lead for lack of knowing better or wanting to think about it himself. Goeth didn't bother with levering himself, he simply dropped back down onto the ground with a yowl that died out in whinges and some desperate attempts of his fingers halting the cramping of his belly on the inside. With how pale he was and how much his lips trembled, Helen barely dared to touch him. It was unfathomable how he'd imagined walking up the hill, up those numerous steps. 

“Can you get me a bowl of water so I can keep freshening the cloth,” the maid instructed the accountant who jumped to the task as quickly as if the Herr Kommandant himself would have given the order. He didn't look at the other two much when he returned from the outside of the building and the other side of the stables where he had pumped up some water, but while setting the bucket down, cause that was the kind of container he could come up with, the Jew could not help but notice Helen's hand doing not much else than smoothing the captain's belly. Stern settled back into his seat, trying to pretend all was normal like every day, only noting the sound of the water when the cloth was dipped in it and the occasional shaky breath the Nazi emitted. 

“Herr Kommandant.”

Stern's head snapped up at that before he'd schooled himself. He had no idea that the address could ever be said with such cautious gentleness, but it appeared that Helen had mastered it. Only god knows what must have went on in that villa. Reacting only with an internal shiver, Stern had no wishes to contemplate. “I am very concerned,” she continued in the same manner, “you seem worse off than ever. I'm afraid I'm not qualified to help, not this time.”

“I hardly think Mengele would be interested in my stomachache, other then telling me to cut down on the cognac and sending an unfavourable letter to mention my conduct to Himmler. Anthropologist or whatever he calls himself. Do you know how annoyed he gets when he has to do semiannual physicals instead of experiments.”

“Not him of course but I thought there were a lot of doctors on site today to separate the healthy from the sick to make room for the new arrivals?”

“Yes,” he contemplated for a moment, “aren't real doctors, just medics or anyone with some knowledge of anatomy. Besides, nobody is to know I'm not well,” he persisted.

“Feeling better a little?” Helen was encouraged by his current predilection to speak and explain himself. 

“Not really,” he shook his head after some contemplation, “but I want to make a run for it. The stables are just a few steps away. I need your help to mount my horse and then I'll take her round the back. I'll meet you in the garden of the villa.”

“Are you sure you can manage?” 

“You and Stern can help me.”

Helen gave the accountant a suggestive look, prompting him to come round his desk again and stand awkwardly at the side, not daring to touch the camp commandant just yet. The maid seemed adept at what she was doing at any case, with getting behind Goeth and turning him so that he was practically lying in her lap for a moment before she raised him higher with her arms completely round his upper body. The Austrian rested against her for moment, getting his bearings, testing himself by raising his head, then finding Stern with his gaze. The nod and extended hand was hard to misinterpret so Stern jumped to put all his effort into pulling the taller man up while Helen made sure the captain was steady from the back. “You walk with me,” the commandant didn't let go of the supporting hand and did not question Helen's arm round his hips either as they've made their way out. 

The noise in the counrtyard was overwhelming and chaotic. The selection process was still underway with commands being barked at every single prisoner and the sound of feet as they ran through the puddles to their designated temporary destinations. Goeth wasn't sure if anyone looked in his direction, but there was no way he could spare a glance to check as it was hard enough to keep his dizzy head to focus on his steps as it was. He didn't know if the stableboy was around either, he might have not been or he might have scarpered off when seeing the commander approaching, not that it would matter in any way, not when darkness was threatening to overtake his vision. Someone closed the door behind them and for that, he was thankful because at this point he needed the firmness of the wall against his palms not to fall onto his face. “Are you sure you would be alright in the saddle?” Helen had always been perceptive when it came to his wellbeing. 

It was a valid point of course, especially as he let himself slide down onto the ground. “You ride with me and hold onto me,” he found the solution, “you know how to ride a horse, don't you?” He added, noting her hesitation.

“I do.”

“Then what is the problem,” Goeth practically launched himself woozily in the direction he knew the other building was, trusting the two Jews to keep him from falling over. The venture seemed lucky as adrenalin over not being seen guided his steps in a quick fashion and they disappeared behind stable doors to find the commandant's horse undisturbed by the shouting outside she was well used to. And that was as far as Goeth's strength went. He sagged forward with his arms around his midsection and proceeded to throw up again, saliva and stomach juices mostly and with great effort as there was nothing he had recently consumed. 

“Let him down, leave it to me,” Helen instructed the accountant who thus far did not dare to let go of the Nazi's arm. “Go back to the office, I've got this,” the brunette eased the weight into her arms and a more comfortable position for both of them.

“Are you sure?” Stern was still confused by the whole ordeal. 

“Or maybe you could try stopping people from coming in here.”

“I'll come up with an excuse,” Stern was quite glad to be able to remove himself from the situation. 

“Thank you,” Goeth swallowed weakly once the accountant was out of sight, “that's what I wanted to say. You're so good at predicting my needs.”

“Do you think you can you get to your feet?” Helen was thinking about the next move. 

Goeth shook his head miserably, “my stomach hurts so much.”

“Alright, rest a little,” she looked in the direction of the horse, contemplating what she should do. 

“No, don't go close to Csaszarno. She only accepts a few select people around like Rolf and Ralf. She will kick you.”

“I managed to convice the dogs.”

“Yes, but that took time. Just give me a minute,” Goeth was more determined this time, knowing action had to come from him. The deep breath was a bad idea as it jostled his stomach, making him bite down on his lip and moan, but it allowed him to calibrate his next breaths to something grounding and calming. He concentrated on those and made a consious effort to ignore the throbbing of his belly and the nausea that hightened on the same wavelength as the roiling of his insides. It did take about a minute as he had foretold, but then he willed himself to his feet, even pushing himself away from Helen's hesitant hands. The officer did not remember flinging himself into the saddle, but there he was, offering a hand for the maid to pull her up. She was talking and his mind did register the worried look, though his ears were beyond making out anything over the roaring of some kind of waterfall that seemed to have taken residence in his head. Repeating 'focus, focus' to himself was the only thing he could still do and would hopefully keep him upright with the help of Helen's arms around his torso, to others seemingly to hang on herself. 

Tbc


	9. Ende der Saison

Chapter 9: Ende der Saison 

Of course it was the unsettling discomfort in his stomach that Amon became aware of first, but then again when has it not been like that at waking up at any time over the last few weeks. He knew that no shifting would get him more comfortable and yet he tried, turning to his side on the sofa and pulling his knees up a little, at which point he found himself staring into Schindler's warm, albeit scrutinising eyes. Amon paused. Sense told him he should sit up and pretend like all was normal, but right now he was pretty sure that moving would only result in being sick all over himelf. 

“How are you feeling?” Schindler leaned a little forward. 

Goeth would have blanched if he wasn't too pale for that already, realising he did not remember how he got to his couch, never mind the trek up from the camp to the villa. The scare made him jump this time and he attempted to raise despite his nausea, but he only managed a couple of inches before a soft hand gently guided him back down. “Herr Schindler had to carry you in. You passed out halfway up, but the bushes hid us by then,” Helen filled him in, knowing what her master would be worried of right now, “it's a blessing and good luck he was waiting for you just then.”

“Ah so, thanks are in order,” Goeth tried to sound as lighthearted as he could. 

“I've been worried about you for a long time,” Schindler shook his head, “I didn't realise it was this bad.”

“I get stomachaches from time to time, it's of no consequence.” The officer knew his friend believed none of that before he even finished talking. 

Schindler didn't stop shaking his head, “you're very ill, Amon, a blind man could see it.”

“Do you think it's that obvious?”

“I've had my suspicions for weeks. Why don't you take better care of yourself. I am telling you, from now on, I will deliver no alcohol to this house, not even the good stuff.”

“And you think that will help,” Goeth huffed, irate not just over his future lack of cognac but more so that he had been found out and found weak. He launched himself into a sitting position, leaning closer to Schindler, “do you have any idea what it's like to run this camp, huh, do you! There are roughly 25,000 spaces for people in this place, provisions for far less. Do you know how many more arrive every week, on avarage, approximately? I'll tell you how many. Two thousand every week. Sure, some are only passing through, but even then, I'm supposed to make room for them, temporarily, am I not. How do you think I can make room for them, huh, how do you! Two thousands souls every week, Oskar and you're asking me to take better care of myself, give up alcohol,” Goeth threw his head back against the couch, snorting with a sarcastic chortle.

Schindler stared, unable to speak at this point. It sure sounded like guilt what he had heard, but was that even possible. Helen froze and had literally dropped the plate she was holding in shock and only luck saved her from it being broken. She gave Schindler an uncomprehending look and swallowed, wishing what she heard was true, her expression urging him for clarification. “You must have a fever,” the factory man concluded of his friend's state. Surely there was no other explanation? “You can trust me, Amon. I will never tell anyone what you just said.”

“I would have never said it to anyone else,” Goeth whispered, leaning closer again, “but you, I know you understand,” he negotiated the waters as he inclined his head confidentially. “Oh Mein Gott,” he buried his face into his hands, “my sister would kill herself in a heartbeat if she knew of anything that's been done here in her name,” he whined. 

“Excuse me?” Schindler was now even more confused, “I didn't know you had a sister.”

“Meine kleine Schwester, Lena. She wanted to become a nun. I'd been telling her what a bad time there was for it, before the war you know but she wouldn't listen. Her monastery was never raided or even used for housing soldiers and I firmly believe the reason for such luck was that her brother is an esteemed SS officer. Himmler allured to it at my personal interview and I have no doubts that she will remain safe, harbouring my mother in the same place for as long as I'm performing according to expectations.”

“Amon..” Schindler had never before said the word with such compassion as he put a hand on the other man's knee for comfort. “You do have a fever,” he noted now that he was in physical contact.

“I can't do this anymore,” Goeth moaned, grabbing for his everaching belly, “I just can't.”

Schindler could have sworn he'd seen tears forming in the other man's eyes but then he put it down to the fever. He reached out to the officer's forehead, his assessment coming quickly, “you need to let us take care of you. Do you trust me?”

“With my life? Yes.”

“I'm going to call a doctor Amon. A proper one from town, not Mengele. I personally know this man. He owes me and he will keep whatever happens confidential.”

“Is this man by any chance a Jew hiding in plain sight with false papers,” nothing was getting past the officer. After all over the past year he had been closing his eyes to a number of things he became aware of in connection to the taller man. 

“He is a good doctor,” Schindler did nothing to confirm nor deny the accusation. 

“Yes then. I really need some relief from this pain if possible,” Goeth leaned back to rest. 

Tbc


	10. Die Glaser Sind Zerbrochen

Chapter 10: Die Glaser Sind Zerbrochen

30th of October 1957 San Carlos de Bariloche, Argentina

Just barely out of winter and having seen advertising for the town as a ski resort, Stern expected it to be cold. He even expected possibly hearing German on the streets as Schindler happened to mention that the reason he had chosen this Patagonian city to move to was that many German immigrants had settled there in the 1800s. The Alpine style architecture of the region certainly attested to it and so Stern wasn't too surprised when sighting a German school on his path, though he was taken aback by the appearance of the boys playing in the yard as most of them were clearly Aryan, in stark contrast with the much darker locals' looks. It was an eerie sight. He noted a thinner boy playing with them however, shouting in German but with black hair. Stern sped his steps up instinctually, then reminded himself that he shouldn't do so. He was here in a free country to visit his friend he had been staying with for a few days now, one that he had put forward to be invited to Israel by Yad Vashem to be honoured with an official ceremony on Jerusalem's Avenue of the Righteous. 

“Did you find the post office alright?” Oskar awaited him on his porch.

“It wasn't hard. Beautiful sights too,” the Jew admitted. 

“Well, you're just in time for supper,” the businessman showed the way towards the dining room.

“It smells inviting,” Stern wondered. While the woman was warmhearted and fostered a herd of pets now instead of Jews, Oskar's wife Emilie had never been a dedicated housewife and yet it smelled like chicken soup. 

“Have a seat,” Oskar offered, “we didn't know exactly how to make kreplach out of the ingredients available here,” he opened the steaming dish, “but we wanted to try.”

“Oh, you didn't need to,” the accountant accepted the ladel shyly. 

“A thank you for your help. I wouldn't have beeb able to set up the nutria business without your contributions. Tuck in, there's knish and rugelach for afters too.”

“Is it with poppy seeds?” A boy asked from the doorway, jumping into the German conversation as it were the most natural thing in the world there in the province of Rio Negro. Stern recognised the school uniform, and with it the dark haired boy he'd seen playing football earlier. The child sat down by the table as if it also were commonplace to do so, his bright blue eyes shining with eagerness to tuck in. “Mutter usually makes them with poppy seeds.”

“Ehuhm sure..” Oskar seemed flustered, though not overly surprised, “shouldn't you be at home, young man?”

The boy shrugged, more self-consious now that he had noticed the visitor sitting at the other side of the table. “When father brought me into town and dropped me off at the school this morning, he said I should come here after my classes,” he excused his presence. 

“What? How? Did something happen?”

“I didn't notice anything unusual,” the boy frowned.

“His parents often leave him with us,” Oskar explaned to Stern.

“Do you like my mother's cooking?” The youngster found his voice again to address the stranger.

“Oh so that's who made this?” Stern nodded at the dish, “I haven't had the chance to try it yet. But it does look like your mother makes great Jewish food.”

“Be'te-avon,” the boy encouraged Stern to try. 

“Atah medaber ‘ivrit? (Do you speak Hebrew then?)” The visitor was more and more interested in the child. 

“Ken (yes). And Yiddish too, but mama says there are too many dialects of that so I should stick with Hebrew. Na'im me'od (please to meet you). Shmi (My name is ...)”

Oskar almost turned the table over in his hastle to get up and both the others round the table hung on to some dishes to keep them safe from spilling. “There must be a good reason why your parents have sent you over right now, today. Is your mother alright? Is the baby coming? I mean, she was perfectly fine cooking and sending it over, wasn't she? Your father's sick again? But then how did he take you to school, I don't understand. We should go and find out urgently,” he waved the boy to stand and follow, “I'm sure you have some of this food at home.”

The young one turned to Stern in parting, “slicha (sorry). Sheyihiye lecha yom na'im (Have a nice day.).”

“Does the boy stay far away? Surely our business discussions can be delayed, do not send him away on my account,” Stern was puzzled by his friend's behaviour, “we can all go over to their house after dinner maybe?”

“Mother will be happy to speak to another Jew,” the child agreed, “if you're one of the workers for Herr Schindler, you might know her.”

“She might need help sooner rather than later,” Oskar opposed once more. 

“I don't think the baby is coming early, Onkel Schindler.”

“I am one of Oskar's workers,” Stern confirmed, “what is your mother's name?”

The businessman turned farmer sat down with a heavy sigh, giving up. “Helen. Helen Hirsch.” It came the having become-inevitable confirmation from the fairly self-assured child.

It took Stern a fraction of a moment to give the boy another discreet onceover and calculate timescales, then his mouth opened but nothing came out. “Come on Mony,” Schindler placed a somewhat protective hand on the youngster's shoulder and raised himself up at the same time, “I'd hate it if there was some trouble at home we didn't know about.”

“Wait outside Junge, we're coming in a minute,” Stern took initiative with a determined look. 

Mony looked from one to the other, clear now that there was some uncomfortable tension hanging in the air that he gladly left behind to comply with the order supplying him with an escape route. Schindler simply stood silently, waiting for the fallout. “His father...” Stern demanded, starting to shake with the pent up emotion. 

“You already know,” the ex spy gave dejectedly. 

“He's here.”

“Well, Argentina is one of the most obvious places to go to after..”

“He's here,” Stern repeated, letting anger rise, “I recommend you to be honoured by the State of Israel and you harbour him here!”

“You've already seen me helping him escape with your own eyes!”

“It's not the same!”

“Itzhak, you don't understand. You know very well I've spent everything I had by the end of the war. Amon, he had funds, bank accounts set up abroad. He was thinking ahead, well ahead, at least at some point.”

“That is all Jewish money.”

“Some of it might be, but part of it is also the bribes I gave him, it's my money. And not just that, but he had connections, acquintances, other escapees he knew here, people I could do business with, people who would be willing to finance me if Amon vouched for me.”

“I had a hunch we were in the thick of the Nazi community here,” Sten accused some more. 

“I don't really deal with them, that's why I need Amon.”

“That's no excuse.”

“Itzhak, do you have eyes? Did you just see that boy you met, huh? A boy who speaks impeccable Yiddish and Hebrew besides German and Spanish and lives by the customs of your culture? Think about it. Does he strike you like anyone who could be the son of the Amon you knew?”

“And here you are, defending him again.”

“Helen wouldn't be with him if not for the amends.”

“Some people cannot be redeemed.”

“I'm asking you to forgive me for being understanding, not him.”

“I need to see him.”

“What? Why?”

“I just need to. Take me to him.”

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Because I already know too much? Fear for your friend, of me telling some Mossad agents of what I find out?”

“Izhak I beg you, Helen's heavily pregnant right now.”

“I'm pretty sure I've seen him shoot a pregnant woman before. But you chose to close your eyes to that, didn't you.”

Schindler shook his head, “alright maybe you need to see him, you need to see them to understand. Come, we're taking Mony home.”

tbc


	11. Meinen Weg, Ich Finde Es Nicht Mehr

Chapter 11: Meinen Weg, Ich Finde Es Nicht Mehr

Try as they might, none of them could overcome the unease they felt as they made their way over to the boy's residence in Oskar's Opel. The child drew back and that made Stern feel weird. Mony had nothing to do with his father's deeds and therefore it was even to the accountant's relief that they've found nobody home and so there would be no confrontation in front of minors. Neighbours let them know that indeed it was as Oskar had supposed, that Mony had been sent to him because his parents were busy making sure their baby was delivered safely at the hospital. Stern let his friend and saviour go there on his own, it didn't feel like the right time and place for a reconing either, but he did move out into a hotel, no longer comfortable where he was, knowing how close the two former Nazis still were. There was the possiblity of simply reporting Goeth's whereabouts to Mossad and let them deal with the rest, sooner rather than later, but Stern wanted to assess the situation himself first, look the murderer in the eyes freely like he'd never dared at the workcamp. Delaying the meetup also gave Goeth the chance to disappear, but the Jew just decided to take his chances, loiter around the house, call on the family as soon as it was possible. 

Stern was no violent person. Having always been an office worker, he never as much as murdered a pig or slit a chicken's neck and he had no intentions to utilise force. Sure, Goeth could have had a gun like in the old days and would shoot for much less than the legitimate self-defence this would be for, only Stern did not care. He wanted to confront the man, put his infinite despise for the murderer into words. Never in a million dreams would he have thought himself that the moment he would see the butcher of Plaszov, the first thing he would do is clock him a good one square in the jaw before the door was even half open, making the Austrian bang his head against the wall behind him. It didn't stop him either. The second punch he delivered to the man's stomach came without further thought or deliberation and then the third, by which time Goeth was on the floor sputtering and moaning and yet the vigour of the assault did not slow down. Stern pounded, trashed and pummeled, only a fraction of his conciousness aware of what he was doing above the rage he felt entitled to. 

He barely felt the thwack to his own neck and wanted to continue, but the blow was strong enough to make him dizzy for a moment and thus look up and into the blazing blue eyes of the boy, much as enraged as himself, “get out!” Mony looked much older than two days ago as he stared the intruder down, defending his incapacitated father and he called for, “mutter!”

Helen must have already been running at the sound of the commotion and pushed both of the people in her path out the way to reacg her partner lying on the ground, now vomiting with great, painful looking heaves. “Mein Gott,” the woman fought with her husband's hands a little to get them out the way, push his shirt up and assess the damage. She didn't really care where else he was hurt but his abdomen that had at least three surgery scars on it, one possibly quite recent. It was only now that Stern noted how thin the Austrian was, how sallow and sickly. There was also a taped down tube hanging out his upper stomach that Helen fussed over, with the same light brown substance leaking out of it that the fugitive was also throwing up. “Mony, go get towels.”

“Not until this man leaves,” the boy did not take his eyes off the intruder. 

“I will deal with Stern,” Helen glanced up, but remained in a position where she could support Goeth, get his head up into her lap, rub his arm in comfort, “Mony, now! Give Lena a dummy, see if she stops crying.”

The Jewish man backtracked a couple of steps, his eagerness for retaliation gone out of him. Not in front of the boy, a woman trying to protect her husband, a baby crying in the background. Then it also occurred to him, “he didn't defend himself, he didn't even try.”

“Mony, I've got this. You've got things to do, call Oskar too, to bring the car, we might have to take your father to the hospital, I think the tube moved too much, there's bleeding.”

“Helen..” Stern muttered hesitantly and confusedly, “I didn't mean to..”

Mony rolled his eyes at him and finally made a move to do what needed done. “We were packing up,” Helen confirmed the theory that the family was making a move to disappear as per the new developmetns, “but now..I don't know if we should move somewhere further from a hospital. He was doing so well lately, we could maybe start eating normally without the tube,” she shook her head exasperated. 

“I'm alright,” Goeth tried to assure her now that he had managed to get his breathing under control, “we'll manage to do everything I've promised, don't you worry. I will be fine,” he actually caught the towel his son threw into their direction before going to see to his little sister.

“This wasn't the right way to deal with things,” Stern admitted, “you should be made responsible by going to trial and getting hanged as a result like some of the rest have been.”

“That's what he wants!” Helen looked up at Stern determined, accusing. “Don't you have eyes! Don't you see how hard is it for him to live, to suffer like this! He wanted to give himself up but I didn't let him, I didn't let him do that to me, to the children!”

Stern stood still and confused, not sure what to do with that information. This whole visit didn't turn out at all like he'd imagined. But could this be, that Goeth living would be worse punishment for him than being executed for his crimes. It was a dark thought and he chased it out as he should have been above such behaviour, not be like the enemy in any way. Which is why he shouldn't have beaten the man and which was why, “I'm sorry Helen, but I have no right to withhold justice for thousands of Jews. I can't not notify the authorities,” he thought best to do that now, or at the very least, leave the premises and get himself out the awkward situation. 

“But Stern, you can't, I love him,” Helen's hand stopped him on the porch, “please, we have a family together, I love him so much.”

“Why? Why do you love him Helen, why!”

Knowing that it was now or never, the brunette didn't hold back, “because of the way he holds me trying to keep me safe when he's so weak himself, how he looked at me when Mony was born, because he loved me enough to cast a whole worldview aside and gave his everything to me! That has got to be reason enough.”

“For you, maybe,” Stern allowed.

“He will never make it to trial. If you have him arrested, he will die in prison because he needs daily expert medical care. You will not get the justice you seek.”

“At least I've tried,” the departing visitor called with his back turned. 

tbc


	12. Unsere Geheimnisse

Chapter 12: Unsere Geheimnisse

9th of May 1962, Jerusalem 

Stern didn't stop the ceremony of a carob tree being planted in Oskar's honour on the Avenue of the Righteous, why would he. Having been keeping in touch with Goeth after the war or not, the German industrialist had been the reason why over a thousand Jews were alive, or double that now if the survivors' children were counted. To show good faith, Stern would not mention anything that could come between their friendship and insisted on Oskar staying at his house when visiting the country. It was only sitting by a glass of wine on the last night of the honoured man's stay that Stern finally said it on a forced monotone voice as if it didn't matter, “is he still alive.”

Schindler didn't look up, nor did he have to ask who, “yes.”

“Against medical odds, again,” Stern observed, “he didn't look all that well last time I've seen him.”

“I've heard about that.” Finding himself sympathising with both sides as usual, Oskar raised his glass to salute the older man as an acknowledgement of Stern's deeds.

“And Helen?”

“She's well. I think motherhood suits her.”

“How many children?”

“Three, and raised largely Jewish,” the ex-Nazi felt the need to add. 

“I'm guessing he's probably not well enough to care too much. What money do they live on?”

“Mainly his inheritance from his family's Publishing House. If you remember, they were wealthy Catholics.”

“And how is he.”

“Good,” Oskar didn't dare lie about these things, “he got a lot better and doesn't rely on tube feeding.”

“I want you to know that I didn't implicate you in any way but I did relay my information to Mossad after my visit.”

“I didn't expect you wouldn't. And thus on that assumption, Amon relocated.”

“I'm not going to ask you where, but I am not letting him get away with what he did. He is searched for as we speak.”

Oskar nodded his acknowledgement, chasing it down with the remains of his wine, “I'm not going to stand in the way.” It was an easy thing to say as there was no real danger.

“But you do know where he is.”

“Look, I'm bankrupt and live in Germany. I had to accept your government paying for my trip here for the ceremony. Amon is, as far as I know, still in South America. Do you think we have any sort of contact that could not be traced back to him?”

“And still, you know about him.”

“I have my ways. I want to, so I can assure myself that I made the right decision never giving him up, to be assured he's making life decisions I can approve of. Knowing me, that will just have to be good enough for you for now.” Stern shrugged. Not because he didn't care, but because there wasn't much he could do about the subject. His friend, either way, was worth more than a penchant for revenge. As the Jewish proverb says, don't sell the sun to buy a candle.

The End.


End file.
